Road of a Blank Verse
by Kolamity
Summary: After sacrificing the world Aang knew for the chance to save the past, the Avatar world we know has changed. A very different gang must find each other-- and the new Avatar-- before everything Aang fought to save falls apart.
1. The Lost

**Title**: Road of a Blank Verse

**Summary**: The world has changed, and that which went wrong has been righted. A very different gang must find one another-- and the new Avatar-- before everything Aang fought to save falls apart.

**Author's Note**: Verse is an AU fanfic, centered on a world in which Aang summoned a terrible power and returned to his past. Forever separated from his friends, Aang manages to saved his people and the rest of the world against the threat of the Fire Nation. Years pass, and Aang worries of the threats his friends will face without him-- especially the return of a pesky comet. He takes steps to ensure his friends will meet and save the world without him.

Verse is the story of the Avatar's once friends as they try to save the world in Aang's absence. While there are a few original characters, the story will focus on Sokka, Katara, and Toph. The first few chapters are drama-heavy, but the adventure element will be the dominant theme once the story takes off!

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. :3

Chapter One: The Lost

* * *

The blizzard entered before the short monk, winds and snow thrusting papers from the study's bulging shelves to twist and spiral in mindless flight. Stepping quickly into the burning room, Rinchen shoved all of his diminutive weight against the door's faded red finish, the contrary wood protesting as it closed. Beyond the barrier, winds continued their angry roar, seeking to claim another victim from the temple. The door shuddered against the violent assault, but stood firm.

Pushing himself away from the door, Rinchen wished he could borrow some of the doors strength. He would rather be anywhere else, even out in the grip of the unforgiving blizzard. Any place where Rinchen wouldn't have to face his grandfather.

It was nearing the end.

Bowing his shaved head, Rinchen dutifully pressed deeper into the study, the winds of the blizzard fading, papers and scrolls slowly sliding to a rest on the lonely ground. No one would clean this mess for a long time. He blinked, eyes adjusting to the dark corridor off the study, his feet chilled as they led his hesitant body closer to his grandfather's sleeping chambers. The chill was a sharp contrast to the air, growing hotter and hotter as he walked, sweating, approaching a massive pyre burning defiantly at the entrance to his grandfather's quarters. A stiff mockery of the frigid winter outside the windows, the last bending of a dying man.

"I wondered when you would come," The soft rasp was weak and world weary, so completely unlike the warm, jovial tone so familiar from the man who had helped raise Rinchen and his brother. His grandfather lay amidst the finest furs from the four nations, shivering despite the smoldering space. "The hour is growing late. I'm afraid I won't be good company for long." A ragged laugh escaped his ruined lungs, and the old man hunched over as a fit caught him and refused to let go.

Rinchen rushed forward, but was stopped by his grandfather's raised hand.

Slowly, the fit eased its hold, and his grandfather was smiling at him again. Rinchen returned the smile, but it faded as he saw the bundles of scrolls laying scattered about the old man, most nestled atop his fur-draped lap.

"Oh grandfather," the young man rushed forward, embracing the dying man as gently as he could around shoulders that hadn't ceased shaking for months now. "It cannot be!"

The old man patted the Rinchen's scalp, a feeble gesture, as his grandfather's shaking hands were too weakened by the ruthless illness for any inspiring consolation, remaining a cruel mockery of the comfort so frequently associated with that gesture. Just as the world was becoming as it was, his grandfather was slipping away. Rinchen could not believe his grandfather would fail so close to the end!

"Do not fear for me, Rinchen; these things happen for a reason. And who knows? In my next life, perhaps we will meet again. By then, you will be a powerful master, I think." His grandfather smiled widely at him, his eyes twinkling a quiet gray.

But the boy's heart knew this would be for the last time. His grandfather would die, his spirit would move on, become someone new. It was the way of things, something Rinchen had understood for many years— but that understanding didn't make this final goodbye any easier. Tears prickled Rinchen's eyes; he looked away from the battered body, struggling to be as strong as that aged door had been. This last gift Rinchen would give— fortitude during his grandfather's passing. 

His grandfather smiled thinly, as if knowing Rinchen's thoughts and approving the attempt. "These scrolls and their importance is well known to you, Rinchen, how essential they will prove in sixteen years. I charged first your father with the task of taking each scroll to its master, but he cannot complete this task from the spirit world. I would charge your brother next, but Saang is deep in morning for a body that still lives. He cannot see reason. But you are young, grandson, yet youth matters little. I was not much older when I fought to save the world. And I can trust in none but you for the scroll's care."

Rinchen nodded very slowly, tears rolling down his cheeks in defiance to his wishes, falling upon his shaking hands. down This task would save the world, but the price could be stiff indeed; such a matter was not easily undertaken by wise men. Yet this was his grandfather, and Rinchen would do anything for the man. The decision was easy. "I promise."

The old man smiled, and settled against his bedding, the tension easing from his weary body. "I die with no regrets. I will see my friends in my next life, that much is certain. I am glad things worked out as they did. If they had stayed as they were, I never would have met your grandmother. I would never have met you, Rinchen. And our people would be no more, memories of a long dead wind, the Avatar cycle irrevocably broken and the world left asunder. Perhaps now… perhaps now they stand a chance."

"I don't want you to go," Rinchen's mouth wobbled as he held back the hysterics that had taken his brother, leaning closer to his grandfather but not daring to shake sense into his mumbled words.

His grandfather shook his head, one last smile on his lips. "I should like very much to stay, but such is not my fate." His ravaged lungs struggled with a choked laugh. "Never forget that… I love you, Rinchen. And… the scrolls… to each master… of the White Lotus."

The boy pressed his lips against the chilled forehead. "I won't forget, grandfather," Rinchen paused, struggling to raise his spirits for one last gift for the man. "I hope the spirit world is more enjoyable this time."

The Avatar struggled to speak, his lungs producing one last laugh, before his tired body gave in to the illness. His grandson bowed his head, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, closing his eyes to Aang's final legacy to the friends he had left behind, and the world he had struggled so hard to save, unable to bear the sight of the scrolls.

Time passed, and Rinchen's sobs dried to hollow shudders. Determination steeled his soul, his hands ceased shaking as they gathered the final legacy, securing them in a dusty sack from beside his grandfather's bed. Rinchen would be strong. He would succeed with this final mission from his grandfather.

Because in sixteen years, the new Avatar would rise, born of the water tribe, and stand beside his grandfather's statue in the line of Avatars, an unbroken line that stretched back to the beginning of time. The new Avatar would face a terrible threat, and would need all the help he— or she— could gather.

That was not Rinchen's concern. He was not meant to save the world, but to deliver the tools for those who would. To entrust his grandfather's legacy into the hands of the White Lotus, and wait for his grandfather's eventual return.

It would be a very long wait.

* * *

_Sixteen years later_

Wet flakes cascaded against the pitch sky, twirling over the city's walls and sticking thick to the young man's poorly patched parka. He brushed repeatedly against the thin material with recently darned mittens, shivering against the brilliant full moon, and vowed he would never, ever, sit for sentry duty again.

Especially not the moon shift, knee deep in wretched winter.

Sokka huddled against barrier between the worst of the wind and the quiet city, moodily casting his blue eyes out into the unending blackness. It stretched as far as his eyes could see, the bay a chilled quiet broken only by the soft touch of waves against the shore. Even the violent currents slept, so late the hour. Only fools and boys on sentry duty were awake.

His face stretched with displeasure. Any other night, Sokka would be nestled happily in his furs, fast asleep. Well, in truth, one eye would be on his sister Katara, filled with brotherly suspicion. He hadn't caught her yet, but he knew she'd pitched her tent for some boy, and was sneaking off to be with said boy at any opportunity. He would welcome the arguments with Katara now, as at least at home he would be warm and content. Sheltered from the bitter winds, which for the past hour had threatened to steal him off into the shadow stained sky.

Such was not Sokka's fate. In only a few hours, the Council of Five would meet, and Sokka would stand before his people and claim his right as a warrior. By the light of the first rays of the sun, Sokka's vigil would end, and he would be bathed and made ready for the Initiation ceremony. His sister had finished his fine garments for the ceremony only hours before Sokka had left for his sentry duty. It had been difficult to stand still while Katara had attacked him with pins and shears, clucking her tongue at his rumbling stomach.

For a new warrior was expected to fast on their vigil, to test their mental will against their weak body. Trapped on the frozen wall with only the wind for company and doubts settling in, the lack of food to pad his stomach was the hardest aspect of the ritual. As the new chief's son, Sokka knew how important this final step in his path to becoming a warrior would be, so he ground his teeth and endured.

But frequently, his thoughts twisted from moment at hand, sneaking backwards to the past. Katara, laughing when he called himself a man. His father, standing proud after Sokka had made his way through the ice flows, the test any boy underwent before the Initiation. And his mother, smiling as she kissed a childhood wound.

It was difficult to steady his mind against thoughts of his mother. He guiltily wished she could be there to see him in the morning. Perhaps she would look upon the ceremony from the spirit world, cheering him on from beyond? Standing proud beside his youngest sister?

Sokka sighed as his eyes sweeping moodily across the bay's inky surface. Such would not be. Sokka didn't hold much in the idea of a spirit world, knowing deep in his gut both his mother and baby sister were gone, forever separated from this world. Wishing would change little.

A nasty gale cleared the wall, catching Sokka square in the chest. He ducked down, taking shelter against the thin wall, grumbling as he tucked his shivering hands within the parka.

He wished again Katara was there— she, at least, would have thought to bring a blanket.

But Katara was fourteen now, nearly a woman of the tribe, and too well aware of her duties now to sneak off in the dead of the nigh. Soon she would leave to find a husband in the North, cementing an alliance with their sister tribe fractured with the death of Sesi.

Which made Katara's recent sneaky behavior troubling— feelings for another would only make her departure more difficult, and Katara should have more sense. But in the morning Sokka would be named a man, and he'd use his new influence to change his sister's mind.

Katara had a duty to take Sesi's place. Sesi had been promised to a son of the Northern Tribe's Chief. Imposing and fierce, the man had reminded Sokka of a gruff snowbear, fangs bared against any opposition; Sokka hadn't liked the thought of his baby sister marrying into that family, and the thought of Katara around that man was even worse. Katara, at least, would wed another of the tribe. Some high ranking warrior, Hahn or something. But that did little to cease his worries. Katara's mouth would get her in trouble; Sesi at least had a softer way about her, could have handled the transition between tribes. 

But Sesi had died, taken in the same plague that had killed their mother. Now the alliance was threatened. It wouldn't take much to sunder the accord the two tribes had reached, especially with the Water Sages abducting any Waterbenders under the age of 17 from both tribes, consumed with their useless quest to discover the Avatar. It had been over sixteen years since the last had died— surely by now the Avatar would have been found if he truly existed?

Something distinctly foreign caught his frozen ears, and Sokka blinked, suddenly alert. It was the cracking of ice against the frozen sea, layered against a sharp woosh of movement. It almost sounded as if something, or someone, was flying across the ocean…

Had Sokka summoned the demon Water Sages with his thoughts? Face white against the ice ledge, he slowly peered out into the bay, fingers shuddering with terror as he beheld the ocean.

Clad in white robes, five figures raced effortlessly across the ocean's surface, their unnatural progress pointed directly or the walls of Atka City, stronghold of the South Pole. 

Only master waterbenders could manage that feet. They were Water Sages.

Cursing his idleness, Sokka jumped to his feet. The signal bell was dull against the pale light— too far to reach in time to call forth the Tribe's warriors. Reach by foot, that was— he had a secret weapon. He bit his lip, drawing blood as he pulled the boomerang from his back, eyes locked on the dull bell. Everything counted on him making this strike.

The trusty instrument sang through the air, striking the bell with a deafening clang. Sokka let out a victory whoop, even as shouts began to ring out below, the domes of the city opening as men and women poured from their homes, shoving clothes onto their shuddering bodies.

The ringing of the signal bell was never a false alarm.

"Who rings the signal?" A heavy voice boomed formally, although all knew who sat upon the walls that night. 

Sokka grinned widely, no longer fearing the danger. Always before his father had been gone when the Sages had come. Those demons would take no one this night! "Water Sages are bending across the harbor!" He called out, wincing as his voice rang shrill and cracked in the wind.

Shouts of the warriors deafened Sokka, mingling with shrieks women rushing to secure their children, to hide the precious ones against the cruel eyes of the Sages. Sokka raced along the wall, moving so quickly he slid into the bell with a thud. His boomerang lay in the ice beside the bell, but he paused to admire the dent on the heavy bell's surface— it would stand as an eternal reminder of Sokka's vigil.

The wall groaned, reminding Sokka of the danger, the city gates thundering open to release the still dressing warriors. Sokka rushed down the glistening stairs, stumbling awkwardly. The surface was slick and treacherous; a broken leg would do none of his people any good. He slowed his progress, anxious to continue, but too smart to risk his neck. By the time he reached the bottom, the city gate was nearly shut!

Ears muffled against the shouts of his tribesmen, Sokka raced forward and rolled neatly beneath the gate, his threadbare parka's sleeve narrowly missing being trapped beneath the heavy stone.

"What are you doing out here? You should be inside the city, protecting your sister!" Hakoda spared only a glance towards his son, the tension sharpening his words as he tossed a worried look at the Sage's approach.

"Too late now. The Sages are here." Another warrior said, pointing as the Water Sages landed on the shores. The pale light of the moon took an eerie hue, catching the pure white parkas of the Sages and giving them an unearthly glow.

Sokka slowly stood, dusting the powdered snow from his trousers, lowering his head to cover burning cheeks. Although he stood on his vigil, Sokka was not yet a man, and it chafed to be reminded of it. His arm was just as good as any other! Better, even— his father had sent for the best sword master in the lands to train him, and Sokka doubted there was a warrior in the South who could best him. Save for his own father.

The approach of the Sages was slow and silent, their hoods masking their faces. But the their bodies were stiff, betraying their deadly mission. Although their hands remained tucked within the folds of their white robes in a mockery of the peaceful habit of the air nomads, Sokka could see the gleam of bottles peeking from just within the folds.

Sokka well remembered just how dangerous the poison waters within the bottles could be. The former Chief had been burned so terribly, just with a trace of the poison. His burned arm had withered to uselessness, marking Bato no longer fit to lead the tribe. He had left their shores, leaving Hakota as Chief…

The tallest of the hooded men stepped forward, and Sokka's father walked away from the warriors to meet him. Sokka strained to hear what words were exchanged between the two, but the winds carried no hint of the exchange, a sudden snow swirling in white-laaced circles around both men, obscuring them from view.

Impatient for the fighting to begin, Sokka pulled his boomerang out, testing the sharp edge, as he stepped to the front of the men. None denied him his place, even if he wasn't technically one of them yet.

The snow ceased falling, and Sokka prepared to unleash a hearty brag at the silent Sages— until his disbelieving eyes caught sight of Hakota, defeated without a blow. His father's mighty shoulders sagged, and the fierce chief had bowed his head, obviously yielding to the authority of the Sage.

The five Water Sages strolled forward, the warriors of Atka City made powerless by their Chief's failure. Sokka stiffened as one passed, the brute's thick face barely visible in the shadow of his hood— save for a smug, knowing smirk. The benders waited on no raising of the gate, teare out a section of the wall and calmly walking through.

Confused and angry, Sokka twisted back to look at his father. Hakota remained apart from the warriors, his eyes cast up to the moon, shame pulling at his face.

"Why?" Sokka asked, stepping to his father, voice reedy against the wind.

Hakota did not speak for a long moment, working his mouth as if to answer, but no words came. Finally, his father closed his eyes to the moon, bowed his head. "Your sister." The man said simply, his eyes slowly raising to catch Sokka's.

"What?" Sokka cried out, twisting away, but his father laid a hand on the threadbare parka, holding the squirming boy fast. "Why aren't you doing anything? They can't take Katara! She's… it isn't right!" Sokka fought against both hot tears and stone faced father, managing to escape the later— but not the former. 

"I won't stand here and do nothing! I have to save her!"

"Sokka, you can't defeat them. They have the power to kill all of us. Your sister knows her duty."

"I can't believe you won't fight for her," Sokka cast his father a poisoned look of disgust, and stalked away, boomerang held at the ready. He would end his vigil with the blood of the Sages, saving his Tribe and his sister!

Before he could reach the hole, the Water Sages strolled through, a struggling bundle held on the shoulder of the tallest. It was Katara. All rational thought left Sokka as he rushed the men, waving his boomerang and howling the cry of a Southern Warrior.

A blast of ice shards, aimed at his legs— Sokka snaked his limber body over the shards, hurling the boomerang at the man's face. But the wind was wrong, the weapon lost to the blackness— it would return too late to be of use.

Sokka landed heavily on the packed snow, weaponless, but even more determined. His sword had been left behind, sitting uselessly on his sleeping furs. Why would he have needed it on vigil?

He rolled, narrowly avoiding a whip of ice as it sliced the ground he had rested on, puffs of snow obscuring the air. Sokka pulled his limber body up, using the momentum of the roll. Hands clenched into fists, he panting for air, but as he saw Katara's terrified face, his eyes narrowed and blood surged. He had to stall them before his next assault. "Is that all you-"

The taunt remained unfinished. The leader of the Sages nodded as soon as Sokka began speaking, and two of the Sages twisted ice around Sokka's form, the freeze slowly encasing his body. He watched, helpless, as the clear cut of the ice covered his eyes, leaving Sokka unable to look away as the Water Sages took to the seas again.

As he fought against the cold, he watched as Katara's face faded, smaller and smaller. It was the last thing he saw before he lost the struggle for air and the world twisted into blackness.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** A visit to Kyoshi Island? But what about Sokka and Katara?


	2. Cling to Hollow Hope

**Title**: Cling to Hollow Hope

**Previously**: Sokka was frozen, Katara was abducted, and Aang died ;.;. Where did Toph end up in this wacky AU?

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing. :3

* * *

Kyoshi Island

The sparring room was dim, but as Suki made her careful progress up the hill, the soft padding of a barefood Kyoshi warrior pushing herself through a difficult routine broke the pre-dawn stillness. Ishi wasn't an early riser, yet her bed was empty.

_She's been here all night_, Suki realized, leaning against the pillars at the entrance. Squinting into the gloom, she could only just make out the petite girl flowing effortlessly through the shallow flyer defense, gestures seamless and graceful. Ishi was unaware of the eminent approach of the sun's glare, focused entirely on her movements. So vivid her parry and low, sweeping block, it was easy to picture the enemies the girl fought.

"It isn't polite to stare," The still moving warrior's voice was a sharp, solid as the toughest of rocks, coarse as her defensive steps were fair. Her black hair was pulled into a high bun, twin tendrils falling on either side of her rounded cheeks. They brushing against her cheeks with each movement, held from her eyes by the familiar Kyoshi headband.

"Your stance is too rooted," Suki pointed out, shifting into the familiar role of instructor, knowing Ishi would accept no mollycoddling. "Glide from step to step, don't rely on a stable foundation. In battle the ground is rarely even."

Ishi completed the last step with a wide, slow smile. "Unless I makes it even." With a flick of the wrist, Ishi collapsed both fans, tucking them into belt. Looking at the girl's small shoulders, Suki could make out her adopted sister holding in a sharp chuckle.

"Is that why you were out practicing all night?" Suki asked, leaning forward in her worry. "I could have provided you with cover if you need to-"

"I went down to the village this afternoon," Ishi interrupted, twisting away from Suki, her hands clenched tightly at her side. "Your father… he was speaking with the mayor, I couldn't help but overhear. They've been keeping it secret between them. To keep the burden from you and the village. After the chaos of the last time…"

Suki's face was frozen. It couldn't be! The Sages had been here just three months past! "Burden me with what, Ishi?"

The girl's head twisted to the side, a sharp grimace on her painted lips. "A watertribe vessel was spotted last week on the route to the South Pole. And it carried the banner of the Water Sages."

Suki lowered her head. No one in their right minds liked the Water Sages— most every agreed theirs was a terrible quest, but few had to bare witness to the horrors those cruel beasts posing as wise men put their suspected Avatars through.

Yet it was impossible to fight them. "We must ready the village for the Sages." Suki's voice was dispassionate, her hands stiff at her side.

Ishi's smile took on a nasty touch. "Just once I'd like to take one of those beats on. I bet we could take them all," Ishi boasted, stepping neatly to Suki's side. The two departed the sparring room, wordlessly returning to the barracks before anyone realized they were gone. No one was awake in the narrow room; it was the Lantern Festival, and every Kyoshi had the day off.

Watching her sister fall bonelessly into the bed and immediately begin snoring, Suki frowned, too worried to go back to sleep. _I'll have to watch her. We can't afford another incident like last time.__And I'll keep this news from the other girls. No sense ruining their festival. _

Because things never went well when Water Sages wandered the world. er warriors deserved this last day of freedom before the ice demons arrived on their shores.

* * *

Atka City, South Pole

If the dead can't feel pain, and his whole body ached with it, then it meant only one thing: Sokka was alive. No fire in existence was hot enough to warm him. Even his eyeballs puckered from the chill, vision nothing but blurs.

Images revealed themselves that made Sokka doubt his conclusion. He had been outside? His eyes saw not the wall, but the corner where Katara's sewing lay, scattered about the icy floor. _Water Sages must have taken her while she was mending_, Sokka's thoughts floated, displaced from the chaos his eyes took in._ Just as well. Katara never was good at mending_.

A large fire threatened before him, yet he felt none of the heat. _The colors of the flames are wrong_, he thought sluggishly. _Was this a vision? Snow Raven's summoning? The lodge of the Frost Wolf?_

His eyes cleared, revealing no spirit before him— the fire was a bundle of saffron and burgundy, clothes attached to a tall, lean man with curly black hair. An unmistakable blue arrow was etched into his pale forehead marked him as a monk, possibly from the nearby Southern Air Temple.

"What's wrong with me?" Words came to Sokka, yet they struggled past his frozen throat; he choked on the effort.

The man leaned forward, eyes cheerful. "You were frozen, my young friend. It is good that I came when I did— your father chiseled you from the ice, but no air remained in your lungs. A simple matter to displace the foul, dead air with fresh breath." His thin lips stretched so wide in a smile, Sokka swore the gray eyes were lost in the folds.

"What's a Monk doing in the South Pole?" Sokka croaked, shivering violently, not convinced he wasn't dead. Spirits, he remembered darkly, meant nothing to him after his mother's death. Snow Raven was nothing to Sokka.

"No monk," The man's smile eased to less inhuman proportions, gesturing to his thick, curly hair. "Just a regular Air Nomad."

Sokka didn't believe him for a minute— he knew what those tattoos meant. "Why you are here? Why did you saved me?"

He tapped a finger to his pursed lips. "Such questions rarely have easy answers." The man allowed, hands sneaking into saffron sleeves. "Enough that I am here, and you, Sokka, are safe."

Sokka stared at the man suspiciously. "How did you know who I am?"

The man responded by pointing to the window with a wry smile. Just outside, the city's waterbenders could be seen, rebuilding the missing section of the wall. None were younger than 17. But then, there weren't many people left in the city who were.

"Soon it shall be as it once was. Stronger, perhaps. Steps must be taken to ensure this does not happen again. The Avatar must be found, all the nations agree, but not at this price. This is not the way."

Sokka didn't hear the man. His eyes were wide as he realized with a start it was daylight outside. "How much time was I out?"

"Oh, a few hours," The man waved the time with his hand, as if it was nothing.

Sokka managed to struggle to his feet, muscles protesting the movement. "What are we waiting for? We have to go after the Sages! We have to save Katara!"

The man nodded, his eyes just beyond Sokka's shoulder where Sokka was beginning to think his father stood. HE wasn't going to turn around and acknowledge the coward.

"It is important we rescue the young waterbender. She plays an important role in the things that must come. Indeed, the fate of the world rests on her shoulders— and your own, Sokka."

"I don't think this is the time Rinchen-" His father was cut off by the man's raising his hand. Sokka turned his head just far enough to see his father Hakota's fists clench before the tall man left the room.

"It is precisely the time," Rinchen walked up to Sokka, peering down his long nose at the teen. Nothing could have prepared Sokka for what came out of the man's mouth next.

"The story of Avatar Aang you know is a lie."

"What?" It was well known the story of the last Avatar— he had singlehandedly saved the world, storming the Fire Lord's palace and swiftly laying waste to the man's careful plan to take over the world. And the Avatar had done this at a stunning age of _12_.

Sokka was three years older and still not a man— his vigil interrupted, status uncertain.

"Aang saved the world— differently. First, he failed. The Avatar was lost for a hundred years, saved by two members of your tribe. Just in time, for at the end of that summer, a comet would bring terrible powers to the firebenders, and nothing would stop them from taking over the world. Aang and his friends fought hard, but failed."

"But-"

"Please, let me continue." Rinchen held up a hand, face solemn. "As he stood defeated, Avatar Aang had no choice but to tap into the Avatar State, a last attempt to restore balance to the world. In giving himself freely to the power, a rare ability manifested itself, a terrible tool only the most desperate and worthy of Avatars may access. Facing the end of the world, Aang used this power to bend time itself."

Sokka's head ached. "You can't just bend time!" He denied, hands flailing.

"Aang did, finding himself back 100 years in the past. And this time, he defeated the Fire Lord. This summer the comet returns, and without an Avatar…" Rinchen broke off, looking thoughtful before continuing. "There are certain people who are essential to keeping the peace. You and your sister are two of them."

"So, let me get this straight," Sokka rocked back on his heels, wincing at the chill still in his muscles. "The world as we know it is going to end this summer unless certain people fix things, even though the Avatar failed last time?"

"That's one way of putting it," The monk allowed. "With the arrival of the comet, firebenders will have considerable power. And without the next Avatar to stop them, many fear the Fire Nation could succeed where they once failed."

"And somehow I'm suppose to stop it?"

Rinchen laughed. "Oh no, my young friend, you are only a part of the success. Every rice in the bowl is needed in this fight, which is why now that you are better, we must leave to rescue Katara."

"Really? Rescue her?" Sokka's eyes brightened, but his joy faded with memory of how powerful the Water Sages had been. "But how? No offense, but I don't see how an Airbender could take on all those Sages."

"Alone? Never. But with allies, rescue is possible. We leave soon, our journey long and uncertain. This future is unwritten."

Before Sokka respond, a heavy hand turned him around, a heavy pack thrust in his arms. "What is this?" Sokka asked suspiciously, not quite looking at his father.

"Go with Rinchen and save your sister." Hakota held Sokka's forearm gruffly as only men did, before engulfing his son in a rough hug. "I hope you… will understand why I acted as I did."

Sokka wanted to say something, anything, but his mouth remained stubbornly shut. He couldn't forgive his father for letting the Sages take his sister. Sokka wouldn't have to go save her if his father had just stood his ground, fought for them! He turned away, eyes only for Rinchen. "Lets go."

Sokka walked away, didn't stop even as his father told him he loved him. He left his home without a second look back— it was time to save Katara.

* * *

3 Days Later, The Southern Ocean

A ship the size of the Water Sages' should be swarming with men. Yet Katara could hear no human noises outside her cabin's door, no matter how tightly she squeezed her ear to the rough timber. The ocean roared, heavy splashes following rough rises and falls from terrifying heights, and the ship's wood groaned and creaked with movement. But there was no trace of human sound.

Katara pushed back from the door, feeling her way back to the small bunk. Beneath her bare feet, the timbers were damp and slick, but she was at least secure against the crazed motion of the ship, obviously swept up in a vicious storm.

There was nothing more Katara could do but wait.

Two, perhaps three, days had passed since the Sages had taken her, and she hadn't seen or heard from the five men since.

_Perhaps it was a good thing the Sages were otherwise occupied_, Katara grimly thought, sliding against the slick wall until her shaking knees hugged her chest. The thin fabric of her nightgown offered little protection against the drafty wood. _They say few survive the initial torture. _

The waiting was bad enough. Trapped in the darkness, battered by an uncontrollable ocean, left alone to her thoughts. How the Sages had declared her father willing, handing to her to them with no care. How her last vision of the city she so loved was her brother, slowly dying, encased in an icy tomb.

Katara was too strong to cry. She'd given in the first day, and all that had earned her was sore eyes. Hopes for rescue were slim— it was impossible to seal the Sages' quarry, and none escaped once within the Sages' grasps.

It had been two years of practicing her waterbending. Katara knew it had been a risk, but she had been so careful! It was impossible for her to deny the power inside her, any more than she could deny the air that gave her life. Bending was a part of Katara, and if she risked death for it? So be it.

Someone must have seen and sent notice to the Water Sages.

And Katara was going to take her revenge upon them. Because unlike the other victims of the Sages, Katara was going to escape. _And_, Katara thought, narrowing her eyes,_ put an end to these abductions. The Water Tribe will be free_.

The vessel was beginning to settle within the water— which meant Katara had to quicken her plans. Calm seas would be the best chance for survival.

Her knees shook as she stood, returning to her post by the door, fingers tracing the slick walls of the cabin. If the Sages had been stupid enough to merely ice the door closed, Katara was confident she could have bended the water away. After years of abducting benders, the Sages had apparently learned their lesson— her door was locked with iron, and nothing she'd done had budged the door.

Without water, what could she do?

Her bare toes curled against the damp wooden floor, fingers tapping lightly against the iron barrier to her freedom, wishing her brother was there to surprise her with a plan.

And then it hit her. She was standing on damp wood. Dampness meant water. Water meant _escape_.

For the first time in days, Katara smiled, sensing for the first time the water within the wood that surrounded her. She raised her hands, assuming the familiar bending stance, and took a deep breath. She was going to escape—

The door to her cell crushed Katara's body as it swung open. Stumbling backwards, Kara raised a hand to shield her eyes from the brilliant flare of a yellow lantern. A heavy hand yanked the hand away, pushing her forcefully further into the cell; the motion of the vessel sent Katara flying against the moldy linens on the aged bunk.

Katara tensed before turning her head to see her attacker. It was the shortest of the sages, a man distorted by his heavy bulk, muscles bulging intimidatingly from beneath his white parka. His face was lean and could be mistaken for handsome, save for the nasty snarl attached to thin lips. His was the face of the moon maddened wolf, fearsome in its unbending violence.

She couldn't help but shiver as his pale blue eyes latched onto her. He might not the leader of the Water Sages, but that didn't make him any less a threat.

"Stay back!" Katara cried out, ducking her head away from him into the mold covered linens, gagging at the wretched smell. Tears sprang to her eyes, body shaking from terror. "Don't touch me, please!" It was difficult to remember her courage facing this maddened man.

He laughed, the harsh, guttural sound thunder in the small cabin. "I don't have to touch you to begin the tests, pet," The man's voice dropped to a terrifying pitch just as a crack of ice sounded sharply in the air. Katara flinched, earning her a laugh from the Sage, but dared not look upon him again.

"Could you be the missing Avatar?" Another crack of ice, fire biting into her back in answer. Katara cried out, digging her hands into blanket, eyes squeezed tightly shut from a war of shock and pain.

Pain was winning.

"The Avatar could stop this. A simple little trick, nice little state. Only way to stop the pain, pet." He paused, and this time Katara stifled the cry the next lash of his ice whip brought. She bit down, hard, on her lip, only to gag as blood seeped into her parched mouth. It was the only liquid she'd tasted in days. "Can you stop me?"

The cries as the ice whip lit fire into her back were the only response Katara had to offer. She was not the one, couldn't he see? But the testing continued, Katara's hold on the bed slipping, until another came to take the cruel man's place— this one armed with a hammer.

Before the man could deliver the first blow, the pain faded. Her mind succumbed to the gray void pressing down on the edges of her sight.

It would be a very long time before she awoke.

* * *

**Next Chapter:** Sokka looks for allies, but gets more than he bargained for. 


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